The Poison Pie Publishing House presents:

January 1, 2021
The young woman heard the shouts of the pursuing men close behind her. She had remained an undetected stowaway aboard their ship for weeks. Her stealth, a well-practiced trait, had betrayed her as she trod the narrow plank leaning from the deck to the dock. Once spotted, she was chased through the unfamiliar port town in the violet light of dusk. Through muddy streets she raced until, at the edge of town, she abruptly encountered a formidable swamp. She cursed her misfortune at having chosen an unlucky direction to flee. What could she do? The angry voices grew louder. Periboea crept resolutely into the swamp.

written while listening to:  Alexandra Grimal - The Monkey in the Abstract Garden, disc 1 (Ovni Records, OVN0003, 2020, France, cdx2, discogs.com)

January 2, 2021
The ground sank slightly beneath her feet as the deep shadows of the tree canopy swallowed her silhouette. The grass rustled in response to each step but she had little fear that her passage would be heard for the crepuscular song of the tree frogs reached such volume that already all sounds of the town behind her were lost. Periboea paused, tilting her head at an angle to better detect the shouts of men in pursuit. Nothing, their ire too surrendered to the enveloping chorus of an amphibious trill.

written while listening to:  Alexandra Grimal & Ben Lévy - The Monkey in the Abstract Garden, disc 2 (Ovni Records, OVN0003, 2020, France, cdx2, discogs.com)

January 3, 2021
Adrift in unknown lands, Periboea possessed no knowledge of the local geography. The swamp might extend endlessly before her and, as a waning gibbous moon rose, it appeared to do so. Silver light filtered through gaps in the foliage, illuminating the scene of a flooded, great hall, in which arboreal pillars supported the weight of the firmament. The young woman had this moment to second-guess herself, to furtively retreat to the port, where she might steal a living from the margins, until caught. A trick of moonlight revealed an illusory, winding path, worn by footfalls, leading deeper into the swamp, which Periboea interpreted as a good omen and followed.

written while listening to:  Myra Melford - Life Carries Me This Way (Firehouse 12 Records, FH12-04-01-018, 2013, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 4, 2021
As the night deepened, Periboea became aware of additional voices in the symphony. The chorus of soprano tree frogs was joined by baritone bull frogs, pulsing a rhythm of call and response, at once erratic and attuned to natural cycles of the swamp. A string section of crickets burst forth in a crescendo that alerted the visitor's attention to their previous supporting role. From a hidden balcony, the soloist sang a sequence of whinnies and squeals that Periboea matched to an owl, though she possessed no special aptitude in the language of birds. As a show of courtesy, she sat on a moss-covered log and listened attentively to the performance.

written while listening to:  Isabelle Duthoit, Thierry Waziniak, Pascal Brechet & Franz Hautzinger - Don't Worry Be Happy (Intrication Label, Tri 002, 2020, France, cd, discogs.com)

January 5, 2021
Absent the attention of the sun, the air grew cold. The water, soil, and trees retained warmth longer for there was, by comparison, less substance in the atmosphere to harbor residual heat. Periboea still wore the white shift in which she had escaped. It had once been a gown that reached to her ankles, but over time the lower portion had become shredded, until she cut it just above the knees. Goosebumps rose on her exposed legs. She had stolen a coarse blanket that served as a makeshift shawl. Crouching on damp ground in the hollow of a trunk, she huddled beneath the blanket to ward off the night chill.

written while listening to:  Ellen Fullman & Okkyung Lee - The Air Around Her (1703 Skivbolaget, 1703-3, 2019, Sweden, lp, discogs.com)

January 6, 2021
Periboea woke to a dream-like world veiled in morning fog. The haze formed a screen no less opaque than clouds in the sky. An orange premonition of dawn prompted our fugitive to bide her time. From her brief exposure, she acknowledged the uncertain footing of the swamp. She would wander over patches of solid ground interspersed with narrow channels at her own peril. Though plagued by a parched throat, she was not yet so desperate as to drink from the surrounding murky water. While the sun burned off the mist, she confined herself to circling trees, where she sipped from small pools of condensation, collected in the leaves of bromeliads.

written while listening to:  Erin Rogers - Dawntreader (Relative Pitch Records, RPRSS001, 2019, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 7, 2021
Once the fog had lifted, Periboea pressed farther into the wetlands, keeping to an intermittent footpath that wove like a spell along strips of firm land. Stately oak trees stood as sentries of this domain, distanced so as to stretch their boughs to full reach and to brush fingertips with one another when the sea breeze ventured inland. She did not yet know what she sought in the swamp, other than a refuge where she could remain undetected for some time. The crew of the ship was the lesser of her worries. Should the king discover her escape, the hunters would grow in number and tenacity.

written while listening to:  Susan Alcorn, Joe McPhee & Ken Vandermark - Invitation to a Dream (Astral Spirits/Monofonus Press, AS100/MF204, 2019, United States, lp, discogs.com)

January 8, 2021
Unfamiliar with life in the swamp, the sonic landscape seemed unearthly to our young heroine. Strange calls of unseen creatures arose abruptly, raced across the water, then disappeared in the underbrush. She imagined the equine head of a hippocampus emerging above the surface of the slough to whinny, or the thrashing of a fabled crocodile of distant Kemet, as it dragged prey down to drown in dark waters. Although Periboea felt as if she wandered through a realm of spirits, she could not deny the needs of the body. She had not eaten for several days. Her thoughts turned to finding food while her strength remained.

written while listening to:  Tomeka Reid, Kyoko Kitamura, Taylor Ho Bynum & Joe Morris - Geometry of Distance (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1096, 2019, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 9, 2021
From a distance, she spotted squirrels, who, though safe in high branches, scurried out of sight. Twice she caught the general outline of a rodent, too large and bulky to be a rat, but no less fleet as it vanished into the underbrush. Frogs fell within her ability to capture, trapping one beneath her hands before it leapt from the bank. She held it, cupped in her palms. It gazed at her with bulging eyes split by black slits. From across the pond, a white water bird, wading perhaps for similar prey, scrutinized her actions. Releasing her quarry, Periboea conceded that she had not come to devour the swamp.

written while listening to:  Køs - An Uncaught Bird (Forlaget Kornmod, no catalog #, 2020, Denmark, lp, discogs.com)

January 10, 2021
In all directions, a verdant scene boasted a palette of shades of green, in the leaves of oaks and hickories, the gray-green of the hanging moss, the yellowed green of cordgrass, ferns and the gloss of leafy undergrowth running along spindly vines. The water, too, shared the prevailing obsession, for the still surface of its black depths donned a faithful reflection of the flora. Above, the canopy appeared as a ceiling painted in complementary hues. Looking down at her dirty cotton shift and muddy knees, Periboea found not a spot of green and felt keenly the hurt of not belonging.

written while listening to:  Hermione Johnson - Tremble (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1116, 2020, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 11, 2021
Animals and plants were not the only denizens of the swamp who seized the opportunity to introduce themselves to Periboea. Emissaries from the Fungal Kingdom emerged from the vast subterranean network of mycelium to expose the marvelously diverse architecture of their fruiting bodies. Their caps were adorned with a layer of velvet or flaky scales, depending upon the house from which they hailed. Some were wrapped in frills while others wore rings. A few left the ruptured bulbs from which they had sprouted in plain view. Urged on by the growling of her stomach, Periboea tentatively reached for a cluster of innocuous white mushrooms with an extraordinarily mundane appearance.

written while listening to:  Nicole Mitchell & Lisa E. Harris - Earthseed (FPE Records, 027, 2020, United States, lpx2, discogs.com)

January 12, 2021
"I wouldn't eat those if I were you," cautioned a man's voice.

Startled, Periboea whirled around, instinctively drawing the knife from her side. In a crouch, she held the blade between herself and the man, weighing his next move. She briefly wondered whether she had been tracked down by an especially assiduous crewman from the ship or an agent hired by the king. To her consternation, her supposed assailant was dressed in the manner of a custodian, armed exclusively with a mop and a bucket.

"Those mushrooms are generally found to be toxic, though some have described them as merely unpalatable, depending upon the hardiness of your digestive system."

written while listening to:  Robbie Lee & Mary Halvorson - Seed Triangular (New Amsterdam Records, NWAM103, 2018, United States, lp, discogs.com)

January 13, 2021
Almost immediately, Periboea relaxed her guard. More than his words, she perceived that the swamp had made indelible marks on this man. Despite his stained apron and the workman's pants tucked into his boots, his easy, almost serene, demeanor identified him as a creature at peace with the fen. He remained still as she scrutinized his weathered face. He bore a moustache that resembled a furry black caterpillar asleep on his upper lip. Shadowed by the bill of the cap on his head, his eyes, like his stance, betrayed an ambiguous mixture of hard-learned wisdom and defeat. A ring of tarnished brass keys hung from his belt.

written while listening to:  Tyshawn Sorey & Marilyn Crispell - The Adornment Of Time (Pi Recordings, PI83, 2019, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 14, 2021
Periboea lowered her knife. Having related the physical appearance of the custodian from Periboea's perspective, it seems a good time to provide a description of our heroine as well. We note that this appraisal originates in a fatherly figure; a younger man or a woman would likely have portrayed her in a different light. In his eyes, she was only recently emerged from adolescence, at least a few years shy of twenty. Although she wielded a weapon, she did not possess an overwhelmingly threatening frame; she was modestly tall. The taut muscles in her exposed arms and legs appeared capable of only humble feats of strength.

written while listening to:  Pauline Oliveros & Alan Courtis - Telematic Concert (Spleencoffin, SP-49-LP, 2020 (rec. 2009), United States, lp, discogs.com)

January 15, 2021
The custodian found Periboea's garb perplexing. Now thin and ragged, the sleeveless shift had once been a fine garment. Frayed thread revealed ornate stitching around the neck and armscyes. She had apparently worn the filthy dress every day for a year and crept through a muddy swamp in it. He possessed sufficient imagination for the unkempt locks of her dark brown hair and the suspicious gaze of her deep-set eyes to suggest the intimation of beauty. This idea pleased him not because he was better inclined to aid an attractive girl. Rather, he supposed all women prefer to find within themselves a loveliness and he wanted to be helpful.

written while listening to:  Joëlle Léandre, Lauren Newton & Myra Melford - Stormy Whispers (Fundacja Sl̷uchaj!, FSR 11|2020, 2020, Poland, cd, discogs.com)

January 16, 2021
"Follow me," offered the custodian, gesturing with the wooden bucket toward what appeared to be an arbitrary direction. In truth, he rightly guessed the girl's hunger and his home lay not too distant.

"Where would you take me?" asked our brave heroine.

"Deeper into the swamp," he promised.

Periboea hesitated. "I won't be able to find my way back."

"Don't worry." He consoled her with a commiserating smile. "You are already lost."

written while listening to:  Joe McPhee, Dave Rempis, Tomeka Reid, Brandon Lopez & Paal Nilssen-Love - Of Things Beyond Thule Vol. 1 (Aerophonic Records, 024, 2020, United States, lp, discogs.com)

January 17, 2021
They walked single-file, the girl behind the man, though not as a show of status. Rather, the custodian read the ground and chose a winding path that was safe and did not require extensive backtracking from dead-ends. He intuited both the girl's intention to dwell in the swamp for some time and her independent nature. She would not long remain in his company. Therefore, he occasionally provided advice regarding his reading of the terrain. "We should go left instead of right here," he said, sharing such tricks as using the density of reeds or watermarks on tree trunks to guess at the water's current depth.

written while listening to:  Satoko Fujii & Paul Bley - Something About Water (Libra Records, 202-002, 1996, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 18, 2021
They skirted a patch of vine-covered moss, which Periboea had intended to cross until warned by the custodian that there lay hidden a pit, eager to swallow her whole. She responded to this well-meaning advice with a somewhat querulous, "Who are you?"

Her guide did not pause as he navigated their way between trees and around underbrush. "I am the custodian of the swamp."

Periboea finally asked the question that had been begging to be voiced since she first laid eyes on him. "Why do you carry a mop and a bucket?"

"I have been tasked," replied the custodian, "with mopping up the swamp."

written while listening to:  Birgit Ulher & Leonel Kaplan - Stereo Trumpet (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1030, 2015, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 19, 2021
Each of us can envision the process of mopping up a spill. The mop head absorbs a thin film of water from the floor and is wrung dry in a bucket. Aside from the issue of scale, Periboea had difficulty imagining how anyone could mop something like a swamp, which was constituted, in parts, by water of significant depth. "That's impossible," she concluded. "There's no need to invent a tale, if you don't want to share your story."

The custodian entertained far too few visitors to have become accustomed to what we might expect to be a common response. His was indeed an absurd situation, which called for further explanation.

written while listening to:  Evan Parker, Lotte Anker & Torben Snekkestad - Inferences (Fundacja Sl̷uchaj!, FSR 14|2019, 2019, Poland, cd, discogs.com)

January 20, 2021
As they walked, the custodian said, "Like you, I came to the swamp, to hide from men who pursued me."

At these words, Periboea wondered how long the custodian had known of her presence; she had revealed no details of her arrival.

"However, unlike you, the creature whom I first encountered was not a middling man but a being of divine nature, a god."

The swamp exuded an ancient solemnity, so his statement did not startle her. "Which god?" she asked.

"It claimed to be the biggest god, the god of gods," he answered, "who ate all the other gods until it was the only one left in the swamp."

written while listening to:  Shelley Hirsch & Kazuhisa Uchihashi - Duets 10 Years After (Innocent Records, icr-016, 2010, Japan, cd, discogs.com)

January 21, 2021
"The god bade me become as an itinerant prophet in its name, a wandering herald announcing its majesty and beneficence at every village and crossroads. One should not lightly tempt the wrath of a god, so I considered its offer carefully before declining. I simply had no interest in devoting the short span of my mortal years to the service of a timeless being with eons at its disposal. So, the god cursed me. I cannot leave the swamp until I have mopped it up entirely into this bucket." He help out the mop and bucket for her inspection, as evidence of the truth of his tale.

written while listening to:  Magda Mayas & Jim Denley - Tempe Jetz (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1061, 2017, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 22, 2021
Periboea surveyed the pristine swamp, then peered into the bucket to find a small amount of dirty water. With little sign of the custodian's efforts, she asked, perhaps impolitely, "How long have you been at it?"

The custodian sighed. "A thousand years."

Periboea supposed that he spoke in hyperbole but a lingering age in his eyes caused her doubt. They came upon a massive oak, with a gap in the trunk where the tree had split. A wooden door, crafted to fit the irregular shape, opened to one of the custodian's brass keys. He left the mop and bucket in the locked closet. Dusting off his hands, he announced, "Quittin' time."

written while listening to:  Ingrid Laubrock & Aki Takase - Kasumi (Intakt Records, Intakt CD 337, 2019, Switzerland, cd, discogs.com)

January 23, 2021
They arrived at a wooden dwelling, built by the labor of one to serve as home to one. It stood several feet off the ground on stilts. A second, smaller platform held a cistern from which the custodian drew rain water for Periboea to slake her thirst. He joined her.

He bade her leave the filthy blanket at the door, saying, "I'll wash it later. I've a spare for you." Inside, she found a single room with a stone-lined fireplace but no chairs. When asked his name, he replied, "Alcathous." By chance this was also her father's name, a fact she kept to herself, though, in truth, it comforted her.

written while listening to:  Samara Lubelski & Bill Nace - untitled (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1072, 2018, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 24, 2021
As he prepared their meal, she sat on a blanket, spread on the floor, which must have served as his bed. An afternoon rain fell. Drops gathered on the overhanging foliage then descended in rivulets on the thatched roof. A testament to the custodian's workmanship, the interior of the shack kept them dry. He served her a hearty stew with local greens and bits of two kinds of meat—likely crab and, she guessed, beetle larvae. Famished, Periboea ate until her belly was full. The custodian's face was lit by the fire. Gesturing toward her knife, he asked, "Why has a warrior come to the swamp?"

written while listening to:  Peter Brötzmann & Heather Leigh - Sparrow Nights (Trost Records, TR 180, 2018, Austria, lp, discogs.com)

January 25, 2021
Although Periboea had not previously been addressed as a warrior, significantly she did not deny it. Her martial calling had been intimated during her incarceration, when she had rebelled against the terror of their jailer. However, her response to the custodian revealed not a whit of her fighting spirit. "I am hiding."

Her host perceived the half-truth but, for the moment, held his tongue. A flying insect buzzed about her face and she swatted it away. "Count yourself fortunate," he said, "to have entered the swamp now, when the mild winter of these climes proves sufficient to hold the most pernicious mosquitos as larvae in the depths of stagnant pools."

written while listening to:  Christine Abdelnour & Chris Corsano - Quand Fond La Neige, Où Va Le Blanc? (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1088, 2019, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 26, 2021
Fatigue and a full stomach lowered Periboea's defenses against the encroachment of sleep. The custodian seemed to encourage it, for her exhaustion was obvious. Besides, he supposed that she might be more inclined to answer his question truthfully once well rested. Seeing no other option, Periboea lay down on his blanket. Before she closed her eyes, she saw him standing at the door, as if to leave. "Where are you going?" she asked drowsily. Such was her state that the faint suspicion of betrayal waylaid her but momentarily on her way to slumber.

By the light of the smoldering embers, the custodian straightened his apron. "Night shift," he replied.

written while listening to:  Ingrid Laubrock, Sylvie Courvoisier, Mark Feldman & Tom Rainey - TISM (RogueArt, ROG-0082, 2019, France, cd, discogs.com)

January 27, 2021
Periboea woke feeling more rejuvenated than she had since the day she had been taken from her parents' home what seemed a lifetime ago. During the night, a second blanket had been laid over her. Her host lay by the fire, now extinguished, on another blanket. When she stirred he too roused. She thanked him for the extra cover. She had not earlier seen them nor a cupboard in which to store them. When questioned, he admitted, "I borrowed them from a neighbor." For his part, the custodian waited until she had eaten a bowl of left-over stew before he asked again, "What will you do in the swamp?"

written while listening to:  Phew, Jim O'Rourke & Oren Ambarchi - Patience Soup (Black Truffle, BT046, 2019, Australia, lp, discogs.com)

January 28, 2021
Periboea had not yet conceived a plan. When the opportunity arose, she had escaped her confinement. Stealing away on the ship put distance between herself and the prison. Her entrance in the swamp had simply been a continuation of her flight. Pressed by the custodian for an explanation other than hiding, she looked inward to discover an answer. Beyond the yearning to see her parents or to free her fellow inmates, whom she had left behind, she found most strongly a desire to revenge herself against her captor. Having passed through the crucible, she felt no reason to dissemble. "In this swamp, I will plot my revenge."

written while listening to:  Jemeel Moondoc & Connie Crothers - Two (Relative Pitch Records, RPR1009, 2012, United States, cd, discogs.com)

January 29, 2021
Although he regarded his home as no shelter to vengeance, the custodian did not express his disapproval to Periboea. It was clear to him that the wound from which she suffered was still fresh. He resolved to aid her as best he was able before sending her out to find her own way. To this end, he gave her a pack, which could be strapped over her shoulders. He filled it with her blanket, now clean, as well as sundry supplies including a small waterskin and enough hardtack to get her through a few days. She initially refused his generosity, but the reality of her predicament overcame her pride.

written while listening to:  Harris Eisenstadt, Nicole Mitchell, Sara Schoenbeck & Mark Dresser - Golden State (Songline Recordings, SGL 1602-2, 2013, Canada, cd, discogs.com)

January 30, 2021
"The port lies to the southeast," the custodian said as a reference to guide Periboea. She strode northwest, deeper into the swamp. He accompanied her for a while. Not knowing if she intended to stay until the warmth of spring roused mosquitos in dense swarms, he pointed out the leaves of a plant that could be crushed into an unguent as protection against them. He also showed her a plant with similar looking leaves that, if applied, would instead induce a rude rash. He recounted his own misfortune at having learned the difference the hard way, which elicited a snicker. "She laughs!" he thought happily to himself.

written while listening to:  Éliane Radigue - Œuvres Électroniques, disc 9: Jetsun Mila (Première Partie) (INA-GRM, INA 6060/74, 2018 (rec. 1987), France, cdx14, discogs.com)

January 31, 2021
The custodian and the warrior arrived at another tree, clearly different from the first, with a janitor's closet formed by a hole in the trunk. Unlocking it, he retrieved a mop and bucket. A sizeable pool, covered in pond scum, lay just beyond the span of the roots. With a thousand shades of green and moss hanging from the boughs, the swamp presented a primeval scene. The custodian set to work. Periboea observed him for but the first few strokes of the mop. She thanked him for his hospitality, guidance and supplies, for which she received in exchange a farewell nod and a smile, just visible beneath the moustache.

written while listening to:  Angelica Sanchez & Wadada Leo Smith - Twine Forest (Clean Feed, CF287CD, 2013, Portugal, cd, discogs.com)